by Gerry Spence
Once more, Judge Murray’s springtime view was gray concrete and dark bars. Most of the time he refused to eat.
Betsy daily visited the judge. She tried to buoy his spirits, and he smiled at her and tried to talk about the pond, and the geese and their nests, and about the birds at his feeder.
Betsy reassured him that she was feeding his birds. The ravens were in charge, but sometimes she shooed them away so the chickadees and the white-breasted nuthatches could slip in for a seed or two. Some claimed ravens knew the secrets of death, but she kept that superstition to herself.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I talked to Timothy, and he says you’ll be out of here soon. He says the prosecution is stalling but that he’s going to get you a trial right away or move for a dismissal.”
Coker had asked Judge Little to let Judge Murray out on reasonable bond.
“I let him out without bond the last time,” Judge Little said. “And we ended up with a prosecutor dead and Judge Murray indicted for his murder. We could run out of prosecutors if I don’t put a stop to it.”
“He’s presumed innocent,” Coker argued.
“Even serial killers are presumed innocent under the law,” Judge Little said. “No, Mr. Headley represents to me that his case against Judge Murray is strong. I have reviewed the grand jury transcript, and I so find. Your application for bond is denied.”
Late one afternoon, Deputy Huffsmith announced over the loudspeaker that Judge Murray had a visitor.
When the judge arrived at the visitors’ room, there sat Lillian in old jeans and a loose woolen sweater. She looked years older, half-kempt, her fresh beauty wilted.
“I thought we had a deal, Lillian,” the judge said. “Every time you come to see me, it creates another set of problems.” He began his inventory. “You got me thrown off your case by that little visit you made to me in my pickup, and I had to defend myself before the Wyoming Supreme Court. Then the state claimed I perjured myself to save you. Now I’m in jail, and I’ve been waiting for fourteen weeks for a trial in which I’m charged with the murder of the man who prosecuted you. If I see you one more time, I will be assured of the death penalty. Maybe that’s for the best.” He hollered for Huffsmith.
“I know you’re innocent,” she said.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked. He put his finger to his lips to hush her.
“I know,” she whispered. “Tina said she skipped class that afternoon and waited until Sewell came out of the courthouse. She said nobody saw her. She walked up to Sewell and she said, ‘Hi, Mr. Sewell. I have something for you.’ She said she had the gun behind her back, and when he stopped, she walked right up to him, put the gun to his head, and before he knew what was happening, she pulled the trigger. She said, ‘He fell like in the movies, but he jerked around on the ground quite a bit, just like grandpa said they did.’ It was my father’s gun.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before this?” He could barely get the words out.
“I didn’t know what to do. I’m her mother. I have the duty to protect her, even if she’s a murderer.”
Speechless, he stared at her.
“I realized I had to tell you sometime,” she said. “You’re being charged with something you didn’t do. I couldn’t stand it. What if you were convicted?” Tears came, and she turned away from the judge. “One day I knew I had to tell you,” she said. “And I knew I had to get help for Tina.”
He put his finger to his lips again and tried to stop her.
“It’s too late,” she said. “If they’re listening, they’re listening.” The judge started to call for the guard. “You can’t stop me,” she said. “Not now. And you need to hear all the facts. That’s what you always say. You need all the facts.”
“Let me tell you some facts that I know,” the judge said. “Sewell didn’t forge the suicide note. You did. You sneaked the note in behind Huffsmith’s back.” His pause gave her time to deny it.
She stared at him, her gaze steady.
“You saw the gun in Tina’s hand, and you thought she’d killed Horace. So you staged the suicide.”
She continued to stare at the judge.
“Then, young lady, you forged the note. You’d had a lot of practice forging his signature after his mind wandered off. You thought Tina killed him. She had the motive all right. She hated him. What you didn’t realize was that Horace killed himself.”
Shock grabbed at her face.
“What about Tina, that poor girl?” the judge finally asked.
“She’d been getting better, and her attending school seemed to be beneficial, just as Dr. Brady said. I even let her drive her car to school like a normal kid. But that night she came home and told it all to me the minute she walked in the door. The first thing she said was, ‘Mama, I had to kill that Sewell. He hurt you, Mama. You should kill people who hurt your family. Otherwise, you don’t deserve your family.’ She sounded exactly like my father. Then she said, ‘And he hurt Judge Murray, and that Sewell should be killed, because Judge Murray is a good man and he loves us. You always said he was the best man you ever knew, Mama, so I killed him.’” Lillian’s eyes squinted against the tears and her lips grew tight. “My God, how did all this happen to us?”
“She must have been suffering another of her delusions,” the judge said.
“I’ve talked it over with Dr. Brady and with Sylvia. You’re in here for something you didn’t do, and I know you won’t take care of yourself.”
“How do you think you’re going to prove to anyone that Tina killed him? They’ll just claim she’s hallucinating again.”
“There’s an eyewitness to the shooting,” Lillian said.
“Really? Who would that be?”
“Deputy Huffsmith saw it all.”
* * *
Without explanation, Robert Headley, Jr., dismissed his case against Hardy Tillman. Some thought they’d made a deal, and that Hardy was ready to testify against the judge. Others said, no, that Headley didn’t want to face all the distracting noise Hardy would make in a joint trial with the judge. They thought that the judge was Headley’s main target, and he wanted to eliminate any potential distractions.
CHAPTER 53
THE SPECIAL PROSECUTOR walked to the jury box and greeted the jurors with a small, sad smile. He was about to deliver his opening statement, which would outline his case against Judge Murray. Headley was tall and immaculately handsome in black alligator boots, his black suit, and black shirt with a turquoise slip tie around his neck, and he wore his thick blond hair slicked back. He took in the jurors with uncompromising blue eyes and spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, like one reading irrefutable truths carved in stone.
“Judge Murray is a murderer, I am sad to tell you. He was the law in Teton County for many years. Only Haskins Sewell stood in his way. Even after nearly four decades, prosecutor Sewell would not crumble under Judge Murray’s distorted and often unlawful emasculations of justice. At last, unable to subdue the prosecutor, the judge resorted to violence. I will prove that tragic fact beyond a reasonable doubt with eyewitness testimony.” With an uncompromising nod of the head, Headley sat down.
As had recently become his habit, Coker reserved his opening statement.
The special prosecutor called Sheriff Howard Lowe as his first witness. The sheriff, now obviously entering the venerated realm of the aged, had won reelection term after term and had become a minor local celebrity. On the stand, he offered a long, rambling history of the enmity that began between the judge and Sewell even before Sewell had been elected prosecutor—how the two men first met at the lily pond when Sewell lawfully shot a goose the first day of the season, and how the judge had verbally attacked him for doing what Sewell had a perfect legal right to do.
Much of the sheriff’s testimony was unbridled hearsay and inadmissible. But when Coker tried to object, Judge Murray stopped him. “Let him speak,” Judge Murray said.
The sheriff told how Sewell’s first case as a b
eginning prosecutor had been defended by John Murray—the Ezra Mills hay-stealing case. “That man,” Sheriff Lowe declared, pointing to the judge, “was always eager to represent criminals of the worst kind. After he beat Haskins Sewell for the judgeship—by only a vote or two, mind you—we had to fight not only the criminals but the judge himself, who sat on their cases.”
Several times, Coker started to object to the sheriff’s testimony, but Judge Murray stopped him.
The sheriff pressed on. “How we managed all these years to keep the good people of this county safe under such intolerable conditions speaks to the caliber of the dedicated lawmen we have provided the citizens. Lillian Adams—you know her—she lives up there on the hill and was recently in this very court for murderin’ her third husband, a filthy rich beer manufacturer—well, she was like a daughter to Judge Murray and his wife, but did he take himself off her murder case? No. And Mr. Coker over there got her acquitted—”
“Objection!” Coker cried. “Objection! This is prejudicial and—”
Judge Murray reached over, grabbed the tail of Coker’s suit coat, and pulled him down.
Judge Little intervened. “This is pure argument, Mr. Headley. And so far as I can see, totally irrelevant. Please hold your witness to proper testimony.” Headley nodded.
The sheriff continued, “Well, this all goes back to the time when Lillian Adams was a mere slip of a girl, sixteen years old, and she nearly beat her new husband to death with a brass vase. Put him in the hospital. Did the judge here,” he said, pointing to Judge Murray, “send her off for some instruction to Wyoming’s reform school for girls? No. He gave her a pat on the head and sent her home.”
Attempting to elicit an objection from Coker, Judge Little interrupted. “Mr. Coker. What do you have to say about this?”
Coker whispered to Judge Murray, “We have to stop him. He’s killing us. Even Judge Little sees it.”
“Let him make his point,” Murray replied.
Coker turned to Judge Little. “At this time, I am reserving my objections.”
“Counsel, you know better than that. You must make your objections at the time or they’re waived.”
Coker remained silent.
Sheriff Lowe hastened to tell how Lillian had stabbed her second husband with a pen. “I have already testified how she was charged with the murder of her third husband, which case was unfortunately lost by prosecutor Sewell when justice went awry, to the danger and disgrace of the people of this county.”
Judge Little ordered a recess and ordered the parties to his chambers. He scowled over at Coker. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Coker?”
“Not exactly,” Coker said.
“What’s the problem?” the judge asked.
“The sheriff is running wild with his testimony, and Judge Murray won’t let me put a stop to it.”
Judge Little turned to Judge Murray. “Why are you interfering with your attorney? I know him to be competent, and I know he wants to protect you from improper testimony.”
Judge Murray said, “A trial is a search for justice.”
Headley joined the fray: “The sheriff’s testimony is totally proper. It sets the background for the crime with which Judge Murray is charged.”
“I caution you, Mr. Headley,” said Judge Little. “There is something in the law known as ‘fundamental fairness.’ If those boundaries are breached, you may suffer a mistrial or, on appeal, a reversal.”
“Of course,” Headley said. “I am fully aware of the law.”
Back in the courtroom, Sheriff Lowe began where he’d left off. “There was always a feud going on between prosecutor Sewell and Judge Murray. It got so bad that Judge Murray found Sewell in contempt of court and sent him to jail, not once, but twice. You can imagine the bravery of prosecutor Sewell, who spent those times in jail as the price he was willing to pay in his futile attempt to preserve justice in Teton County.”
Coker was peering at Judge Murray in obvious alarm, but the judge sat calmly, silently by.
“What happened next?” Headley asked.
“Well, finally prosecutor Sewell had no other choice but to petition the Wyoming Supreme Court to remove Judge Murray from presiding in Mrs. Adams’s murder trial,” the sheriff said. “And only after the supreme court prohibited him from taking any further part in the case was the state given the gift of an impartial judge, Judge Little, who presides here.”
Judge Little looked down and straightened his bow tie.
With a voice reflecting his most ardent respect, Sheriff Lowe told how Sewell had courageously filed a series of charges against Judge Murray for his arrogant perjury when he denied under oath that he had heard Lillian Adams admit to the murder of her third husband, Horace Adams III. “We had it all right there in a recording we made in his pickup. Not only that; we had a witness who saw her kissing the judge in his pickup, but he”—Lowe nodded in Coker’s direction—“talked a jury into turning her loose.”
Judge Little looked over at Coker, waiting for his objection. Coker started to object, but Judge Murray pulled him back down again.
“Prosecutor Sewell fought like the shades of Billy Hell to preserve law and order in Teton County. And what Judge Murray couldn’t get done as a judge, he finally finished with a bullet through the head of Haskins Sewell as he was peacefully leaving the courthouse to go home. Prosecutor Sewell laid down his life for justice.”
Coker had jumped up to object, but Judge Murray restrained him. When Coker rose to cross-examine the sheriff, Judge Murray grabbed his coat sleeve and whispered, “Let him go.”
“He’s killing us,” Coker said. “No, he’s already killed us.”
“Let him go,” Judge Murray repeated.
Coker, confounded, slowly sat down. “You’re trying to commit suicide,” Coker said to Judge Murray.
The judge looked straight ahead and didn’t answer.
The special prosecutor then called the Teton County coroner, Dr. Roger Norton, to testify concerning the wound in Haskins Sewell’s forehead, the powder burns, the star-shaped blowout around the entry wound, and his conclusion that the shot had been fired at point-blank range. Headley showed the jury the bloody photos, and again Judge Murray would not allow Coker to cross-examine.
Finally, Headley called his star witness, Deputy Arthur Huffsmith. Huffsmith walked to the witness stand. He spoke in a distant monotone. He related that on the night of the shooting he heard what sounded like a shot, and within seconds how he had rushed to the window of the sheriff’s office on the third floor of the courthouse to look out.
“What were you doing at the courthouse at that time of the night, Deputy Huffsmith?”
“I was processing a couple of drunks that give me a hard time.”
“On the night of Mr. Sewell’s murder, did you have occasion to see the defendant, John Murray?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What time did you see him and where?”
“I seen him down in the parking lot.”
“And the time?”
“About six in the evening.’”
“Did you hear anything unusual?”
“Yes. I heard a gunshot.”
“What did you see?”
“I seen the judge here,” he said, pointing to Judge Murray. “Something in his hand. I figured it was a gun. Yeah, it must have been a gun for sure. I never seen him walk that fast before. He was almost runnin’ to his pickup.”
“What did he do after that?”
“He got in his pickup truck and drove off.”
“No further questions,” Headley said.
As Coker jumped up to cross-examine Huffsmith, Judge Murray tried to stop him. Coker pushed past Judge Murray and rushed to the podium. With a vengeance, Coker released a rapid flurry of questions to Huffsmith.
“Didn’t you and I talk about what you saw when I visited you at your home three weeks ago?” Coker asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Deputy Huffsmith, didn’t you
tell me that you saw Tina Ford, the teenage daughter of Lillian Adams, there that night, and that you saw her with a gun in her hand?”
“Yeah, I said that.”
“You are lying about Judge Murray, aren’t you, Deputy?”
“I owed the judge a lot. He saved my house, and he helped to save my boy, and then—”
“Answer my question. You are a liar, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Huffsmith’s lower jaw began to quiver. “Mrs. Adams, she told me right off that Tina done it, that her daughter admitted killing Sewell, and that they was going to put her daughter in the hospital, so I figured that I’d go along with that. Wouldn’t hurt nobody. Tina was going to go to the hospital anyway, so I just as well save the judge. He’s a good man. And Sewell—”
“And Sewell, what?” Coker asked, interrupting him.
“Well, some say he should have been shot a long time ago.”
“So you’ve now changed your statement as to what you saw?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To your knowledge, did anyone else see what happened that night?”
“No, sir.”
“So you were willing to lie to me, and to let Mrs. Adams lie to you about her daughter, but you are not lying now to these jurors? How can we tell when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth?”
“Well, I got me a sick boy of my own, and I know what it’s like to worry about your kid. I got to thinking about Tina, and if she got okay, well, I didn’t want her to grow up believing she was a murderer when she wasn’t.”
“So will you tell the jurors how they can tell that you aren’t lying right now?”
“That there is up to them. But I am telling you the truth. That’s all I can say.”
Headley rested his case, sat down, and adjusted the turquoise slip tie around his neck. Then he cocked his head and looked slowly over at Judge Murray.
Coker asked for a recess. He sat at counsel table with Judge Murray, and neither spoke for a long time, both peering into nowhere like two lost souls looking for a landmark.